The Universal Rule
by elevenhurricanes
Summary: Nate says that I should be able to accept death because I'm human. I respond by asking him when he dies, can I bring the balloons. He stares at me blankly, the stare that says "I can see through your mask." And damn him, damn them all, because they can.
1. Kensi

**AN: First shot at an NCIS: Los Angeles fic. Semi-implied Deeks/Kensi. As always, enjoy! **

It's the universal rule: there is no promise you'll be alive tomorrow or two seconds from now. Being the society that we are, we dance around death, laughing and mocking it in the face as we dodge bullets- whether they are made from lead alloy or harsh, unforgiving words. We are selfish in the fact that we think that it won't be us. When a bomb explodes in southern Afghanistan, we watch the television screen with apathetic eyes. Our minds reassure us that _that_ would never happen over _here_.

And we're wrong. Even as a member of an undercover unit, I've flipped the bird at death, grinned heartily with the boys at the wounds. Battle scars, proof that I won that round. Every single one of us- Sam, Deeks, Callen, and I- we're all playing a game of Russian roulette.

Kick the bucket, push up daises, check out, swim with the fishes. No matter what cute bow you tie around death, it all ends the same: a wooden box and a concrete slab with your name.

It's thoughts like these that keep us up at night, though the guys won't admit to soul-searching the depths of their minds, and I wouldn't either if Nate asked me about it. Of course I trouble myself with the fact that I've written out an impromptu will, listing off objects to various people. Then, I think about people like Callen, who have no one to give things away to or have nothing _to_ give away, and I admit that I am far luckier than some.

During this short time we have, we are taught to make the most of it. In a mere second, we could have our covers exposed and be gone, hightailing it out of everything we've grown accustom to. Sam jokes, saying that the only thing he will miss are the doughnuts, but along with everything else in our lives, the joke is merely a cover.

It's the universal rule: the world is exactly how you perceive it to be. How does Hetty see the world? Or Nate? Eric? Are there really that many different worlds spinning around mine? My life would definitely be different if I saw the world the way they saw it. But would it be worse or better?

These are the thoughts that keep us awake at night. During the day, we are speed demons and daredevils, racing through corridors of warehouses or down pothole-filled back roads of Los Angeles. During the night, we're kept awake by reruns of crime drama shows, laughing at the plot holes and odd techniques they use that would get us killed in an instant. There, again, death pops into the conversation, always the gorilla in the room.

Sometimes, I want to tell Callen that never knowing is probably the best thing that's happened to him, but only someone who _knows_ would believe that. I would like to never know what it's like to believe the last words were truly your last.

Nate says that I should be able to accept death because I'm human. Funerals are merely rituals to celebrate a person's life. I respond by sarcastically asking him when he dies, can I bring the balloons and cake. He stares at me blankly, with the shrink-face on, that says "I can see right through the mask you're wearing." And damn him, damn them all, because they can. I suppose that's what happens when you're so incredibly close to people, when you trust them with your life.

It's the universal rule: take nothing for granted. Because in this split second, in this single blip on the universal timeline, things are not okay, no matter what Sam is whispering to me. The shooters are pacing near the entrance to the warehouse, ready to fire down another one of my teammates.

"You can't stay with me." Sam sends me one of those hard glares he's always packing for when Deeks acts up or Eric rambles on about tech gear.

"The hell I can't. You're hurt, I'm protecting you."

"I'm not hurt, I'm-" He silences me as the shooters move forward. Maybe he thinks I was going to tell him I'm fine. For once, Sam is wrong. I try to pay attention to what's going on around me, but there is a fine haze covering my vision, and the voices start warbling together, different pitches coming from every direction. There is one voice, though, that rushes to me in an instant. I feel the weight of his hand on my shoulder, pressing against where he thinks the wound is bleeding.

"Kenz? How bad?"

"Bad." My lack of complaining lets him know this is serious. This isn't like the bank, where the blood is fake and we're all going to have a round of drinks afterwards.

"Sam, we've gotta get her outta here." Another set of pops ring throughout the room. The shooters are down. Usually, this is the time we all share that familiar look of triumph. Now, I fight to stay coherent as someone taps on my blood-soaked shoulder. "Ambulance is on the way." I nod, but the movement jostles my shoulder, which in turn sends a pain shooting through my upper chest. The haze is stronger, but I keep blinking, clearing away some of the fog to drink in the situation.

Sam is pacing near the giant double doors, talking in a low voice to someone on the phone. Probably Hetty or Eric, updating them about the shooters. About me. About me dying. Callen is ripping off a piece of his undershirt and twirling it round and round on his hand. Sliding the jacket off my shoulder, he inspects what he can without worsening the injury.

"Thanks." He cracks a small smile.

"You shouldn't thank me. I notified Deeks. He'll be here any second and you know how he gets worked up. Especially about you."

"He shouldn't." Our fearless leader shrugs, keeping the smile on his face, and presses down on the wound. We both know it should cause me more pain and we both wear the same expression when it doesn't. The only thing I'm physically aware of is the amount of warm liquid pumping out of my body, the way it tickles at my neck and clings to my hair. My mind flashes to what my shower floor will look like tonight when I wash all this blood out. My mind reminds me that I may not have that luxury.

Sam hangs up the phone and turns to look at me. Look at me, dying. I can hear Deeks coming down from the second floor, his voice carrying through the silence.

"Callen! Is she all right?" When he doesn't respond, I turn my head to see if I can get a read off Callen's expression, but I can't find his face. Nothing comes out when I try to speak up for myself. There's a hard pressure, though, as the haze returns. Deeks keeps repeating something, but I can only make out my name. "Kensi, Kensi… Kensi, no, Kensi..." There's no chance for me to reply as the compressions on my chest continue in vain.

"The ambulance is here." Why didn't I hear the sirens? "Kenz, just hang on. The ambulance is here." The compressions cease. I can hear Callen relaying the events, telling the paramedics about my condition. "The bullet's lodged in her chest, below her right shoulder." It feels as if I'm being dumped into a tank of ink. The air I inhale is thick and my blood feels cakey, plastered to my skin.

Someone kisses my forehead and I shiver at the contact. It's the last thing I do before I let go.


	2. Sam

The pressure that he cracked the dry wall with gave him pleasure. It was brief and it hurt like hell afterwards, but it was something. Something other than the worry that had been eating away the lining of his stomach.

"That's coming out of your salary, Sam, I do hope you know." He turned to spot Hetty at the open doorway, a cup of herbal tea in one hand and a worn _National Geographic_ in the other.

"Sorry."

"No need to apologize to me." Their succinct conversation ended there, dropping off into the shiny tiled floors of the waiting area. Above, a television flickered silently, block captions running along the bottom of the local news channel. For some time, the only thing he concentrated on was the buzzing. He didn't want to think about other things. When that happened, he couldn't keep his emotions in check and the hospital walls ended up paying the price. Next to him, Hetty flipped through the magazine and sipped lightly on the tea.

"Why aren't you…?" Sam moved his hands around, motioning to his chest in a flurry of activity.

"Punching walls?" He cracked a smile, but it collapsed halfway through and settled there, incomplete. "I have a low tolerance for pain, Mr. Hanna."

"Hetty." He felt like Callen, leaving things unfinished. Dumping everything out and walking away. Waiting for someone to come along and tie up all the loose ends.

"Kensi is a strong woman."

"I know that." The tea shifted position in her petite hand.

"Then you should relax."

"I can't." The magazine met the end table with a _fwap_, the pages fluttering and settling.

_Pop. Pop. He takes out one of the gunmen, but the bastard manages to empty his clip before Sam's shot does him in. One bullet lodges itself into a nearby crate. The other impales itself straight into Kensi's chest. In the heat of the moment, though, Sam is blissfully unaware and smirks towards the dying shooter. _

_Someone inhales sharply behind him and he turns to see Kensi. Kensi grabbing onto a shelf, dragging the objects with her as she goes down._

"_Kensi? You okay?" He can hear footsteps approaching from another hallway. Another shooter. The SEAL urges him to prepare for another attack, but the dazed, blank look Kensi is giving him won't go away. "Kensi!" He tries again, glancing back towards her- and only sees the blood pooling around the finger she's pressing on her chest. _

"_You can't stay with me, Sam." Even now, she's giving him the glare- the one that notifies him that he should be doing his job instead of bothering her. Bothering to know if the injury is serious or not. Bothering to know if she's going to die on his watch. The footsteps slow, clicking softly against the concrete floor. _

"_The hell I can't. You're hurt, I'm protecting you."_

"_I'm not hurt, I'm-" The shooter makes the mistake of turning the corner. Sam lays a bullet in between the man's eyes. There is nothing but quiet, yet none of it is peaceful. The noise of Kensi coughing on her own blood rings loud. _

"Stop."

"Stop what?"

"Analyzing. Re-analyzing. Going over everything in your head," Hetty finally shifted in her seat to look at her agent, "Blaming yourself." Sam swallowed whatever pathetic excuse he had lined up.

"I'm not." He chose, instead, to blatantly lie to the woman who knew him better than his own mother. She didn't make any sound, though, and gave him a curling, wrinkled smile and a pat on his bruised hand. The hand that shot Kensi's gunman.

Then, he heard the footsteps coming. Resonating through the barren hospital corridor. Grinding his teeth against another flashback, Sam watched as Callen and a doctor turned into the doorway. No gunmen this time. No bleeding Kensi.

"How is she?" Hetty was the first to speak, dumping the tea on the table and moving forward to greet the two. Sam thought that he would like to move forward, too.

"The surgery went without any complications, but we just don't know," The doctor caught the gaze of the teammates, of the strange little woman, "It's all up to her." The silence that followed wasn't comfortable, not by any means. Still, Sam felt a surge of pride at the doctor's words. Kensi was strong, no way in hell she'd give up now.

"Can we see her?" The doctor nodded once, stepping back into the hallway to let the three of them exit the room.

Sam moved forward first.

**AN: Next will be Callen, but I promise that it will be longer. **


	3. Callen

There was a short list of quirks that made Callen who he was. His lack of a first name, for one, and his ability to practice Russian when situations were out of his control. When he was exhausted, lacking a cup of coffee and waiting for news about an injured agent, per say.

Leaning against the rigid walls of the hospital's hallway, he continued to practice, finding a comfort in his ability to pull the translations from his memory. Too bad he couldn't remember anything else about his past.

The photographs that lined the walls opposite him peaked his interest only because there was nothing else left to stare at. The infinite white speckled tiles he'd been glaring at did nothing for the imagination. The pictures were simple, though, with an inspiring image pasted in a black matte frame. _Determination_, the first one read in standard, white block lettering.

"_Opredelenie_." On down the line sat _Believe_, with nothing but a green pasture and a rainbow. The caption didn't mention where it was taken, but Callen knew that it was nowhere around here. Southwestern California wasn't known for its deep, rolling valleys. _More like drug rings and prostitution_.

"_Verit'_." The doctors that passed by gave him a once-over, mentally determining he wasn't a psych ward escapee, and buzzed on down to a set of double doors reading "Staff Only." Callen knew Kensi was behind those doors- whether in stable condition or waiting for the morgue, he didn't know. _Journey_. A winding road coated in freshly fallen autumn leaves.

"_Puteshestvie_." Maybe he could've flashed his badge, rapped on the nurses' station window, demanded to see her. Replaced the haunting image inside of his head- all that blood leaking from her, that pale face, those mismatched eyes gleaming a bit too brightly. _Knowledge_.

"_Znanie_." But he didn't. Instead, Callen continued to glare at the photographs in the frames and the little bothersome captions underneath the pictures. _Why would they have these in a hospital? A picture of a chick reading a book isn't going to make me feel any better about my situation_.

"Is your papa sick, too?" The sudden innocence deflated his brooding.

"Hmm?" He was afraid to speak whole words to the little boy standing beside him. He tended to scare children away. The boy pointed with a sticky finger down the hallway, not emphasizing which door.

"My papa is in there. Is yours?"

"No." The stuffed animal in his arms changed positions several times before he reluctantly spoke again.

"I- then why are you here?" It amazed him how a question could be asked and have two different meanings. Why _was_ he here, loitering outside of the double doors, instead of with the rest of the team? Why _were_ they here? Whose fault was that single bullet?

"I'm waiting on a friend to wake up." He stuck with the only statement that wouldn't frighten the kid to death.

"Momma told daddy that papa had a bad reaction to the anesthreesia." Callen refused to meet his gaze and kept staring down the next photo. _Integrity_. _Tselostnosti_. He wasn't good with kids, damn it. They talked too loudly, they couldn't clean up after themselves, and they were a walking time bomb. He'd seen enough children's' lives blow up in the face of childhood innocence. After so many raids, he was sick of pulling the frightened kids out of the rubble and sticking them in the system.

Nice people didn't want kids that came from convicts. They'd throw any excuse in the air, exposing a virus that continued spreading- _He won't ever love us back_. _I'm sure he's sweet, but we're worried about the long-term effects_. _What if he snaps and decides to murder us in our sleep_?

"Are you a doctor?"

"No."

"Oh. Well, do you know what anesthreesia is?" _Enough with the questions_.

"No." He wasn't dumb- it was always easier to lie than deal with another snowball of questions.

"Oh." There was a flash of disappointment in the kid's eyes. Somehow, Callen found himself staring down at the boy now, instead of those damn photographs.

"I like your dog." The thing was worn, pieces of fur missing from its tail, and a bit of stuffing peeked out of its stomach.

"His name is Sarge." The boy picked at the camouflage bandana tied around the neck. "Daddy got him for me when he was stationed in Germany."

"Cool." The one word of praise lit up the pink-faced kid.

"Thanks! Are you a soldier, too?"

"No. I'm a… special agent." The brown eyes widened unfathomably.

"Nuh-uh!" Callen grinned. "That's so awesome! Do you shoot the bad guys and do all those cool stunts like Jason Bourne does?" He was glad Kensi let him borrow those movies when he was recovering, all those months ago. He'd have to repay her for the hospitality- which meant actually buying some DVDs and acting as if he'd had them all along. Kensi would see straight through the lie, but there'd be no way she would turn down some free movies.

The kid opened his mouth to spew a couple hundred more questions out for the tired agent to answer, but stopped when his name was called from the end of the hall.

"Come on, son! Papa wants a hug from you!" And then he was off and running, dodging nurses and wheelchairs to duck quickly into the open door. _Dream_. A towering skyscraper, I-beams sticking out of the top, the inner skeletal system of the building showing through the glass windows.

"Daddy! That guy out there-" The boy's voice was cut off as the door clicked shut. Callen glanced at the sudden empty space next to him, then back across the hall at those double doors.

"_Mechta_." He waited two beats until pushing off the wall and heading down the corridor in search of a fresh cup of coffee. Something to wake his mind up from the fog it had settled into hours before. Before the stiff, squeaky waiting room chairs. Before the stampede into the emergency room, then up to trauma level two. Before the blurry, mad dash down the warehouse aisle.

Before the cafeteria, though, he ducked inside the waiting room once again. The image of Hetty patting Sam's shaking form drained the last of the kid's conversation out of him. He immediately wished for one of those dumb photographs to glare at, wanting to see anything but this. Luckily, neither his partner nor his boss seemed to notice his presence, so Callen pushed away from the doorway, shaken, but unseen.

He was halfway through pouring the bittersweet concoction into a styrofoam cup when someone dropped a tray with a resonating _clap_.

"_The hell I can't. You're hurt, I'm protecting you." The words make him finish off his own targets at a quicker pace. They shouldn't be far away, but now there is nothing but silence so he can't judge correctly. All he can hear is the blood rushing, pooling through his ears and the ting, ting, ting of his shoes on the walkway. _Damn it, Sam, say something. _Then again, he doesn't know the position his partner's in- maybe that last bullet claimed him, too. No, no. There was no thud- and Sam would definitely make a thud. _

_Callen swallows and then starts along the aisle, seeing Kensi at the end. There's a fair amount of blood pooling around her shoulder. From where he stands, he can see the way she's shaking violently, her voice raspy as she mutters to Sam. What he hopes is the last shooter goes down, a bullet between his eyes._

"_You call an ambulance, I'll check with Deeks to see if we're clear." Sam nods once and paces the length of the double doors, talking to dispatch. "Deeks, what's your status?" The reply is a muttered swear, to which a single gunshot is heard from above the three agents. _

"_Sorry, Callen. I found one hiding behind a desk. What's up?"_

"_Any others?" _

"_I saw some movement from my right, but they were gone by the time I finished this one. Everything good?"_

"_No. Kensi's been shot." He lets that settle in, knowing Deeks is dropping whatever he's been doing and is trying to find the quickest way to them. _

"_Is she gonna be okay?" _

"_We don't know." He ends the transmission there, because now she's coughing, flecks of red peppering her white chin, dribbling down her neck. "Kenz? How bad?" He asks when he reaches the injured agent. _

"_Bad." She says nothing else and inhales weakly. _

"_Sam, we've gotta get her outta here." Two gunmen hover near the stairs and he takes out one of them, his partner blowing the other's head apart. Sam eyes the body of the gunman for a second too long and then turns, nodding, picking up his phone again. "Ambulance is on the way." Callen kneels down to Kensi's level and, finding nothing else suitable, begins tearing off his own undershirt to hold back the blood. _

"_Thanks." She speaks eventually, the sound dry, such a contrast to the wet liquid emptying onto the cement floor. Callen shakes his head, squeezing his eyes tightly and opening them to Kensi's face. She tries to grin, but it forms more of a grimace. _

"_You shouldn't thank me. I notified Deeks. He'll be here any second and you know how he gets worked up. Especially about you." _

"_He shouldn't." They are the last words she's able to speak before he loses her. The gleam in her dark eyes glows brighter. He wants to shake her, demand that she come back, but it might injure her further. So he sits quietly, pressing uselessly down on the dam, listening to Deeks as he flies down the stairs. _

"_Callen! Is she all right?" Giving into the idea that's been swarming inside of his head, Callen presses two fingers to her neck. The area underneath his fingers pulses once, then twice, and then never again. He lets Deeks begin resuscitation, pushing down gently onto her chest, while he holds the soaked shirt in place. It all feels inadequate, though, especially when he feels again at her neck and nothing is there, still. _

"_Kensi… Kensi, listen to me," Deeks won't stop talking, but Callen doesn't stop him, "Kensi, you've gotta hang on. The ambulance will be here any second. Kensi, Kensi… no, no, you've gotta stay. Kensi." The young liaison's breath hitches in his throat. _

_Callen looks away, letting his fingers drop from her neck. It's growing dark outside. The lights of the ambulance, speeding down the dirt road, are visible now. "The ambulance is here. Kenz, just hang on. The ambulance is here." Deeks finally stops the compressions, collapsing back onto the floor. _

_Callen catches Sam's attention as the EMTs wheel Kensi out, Deeks following forlornly. The wheels are turning quickly in his partner's head, guilt being the only thing fueling them. _

"_It didn't look too bad."_

"_Liar." Sam tries for humor, but it falls and cracks on the cement floor between them. _

"_It won't help anything if you think about all the things you should've done. We all thought this would be routine- get in, get information, and dump the suspects over to the FBI."_

"_But it wasn't." Callen can't argue this point, because it is entirely too true. Instead, he stands beside his partner and watches as the ambulance peels away, squealing tires and deafening siren._

_Deeks turns to him when the automobile is out of sight, "Callen-"_

"Agent Callen?" He turned sharply, jostling the coffee inside of the cup, and eyed the doctor that had approached him.

"Is she okay?" The term 'okay' didn't settle well with the surgeon, that Callen could see, but he needed an answer.

"She made it through the surgery fine, yes." Fine. _Shtraf_. The word, even in two different languages, gave little comfort.

"Have you told the others?"

"No. I was just heading down for my own cup of Joe when I ran into you. Want to head on up with me?" They stood side by side in the elevator, the doctor watching the numbers rise as Callen stared at their reflection in the metal doors.

"Do you think she's going to wake up?"

"Yes." The immediate answer seemed to be the only positive thing he'd heard all day. _Da_. When the elevator opened, the first thing Callen did was dump his full cup of coffee into the nearest trashcan.

**AN: Final chapter will be Deeks, with a little bit of Kensi. …**_**maybe**_**. **


	4. Deeks

He peeked over his shoulder once more- repeating the action he'd been performing for the past thirty minutes. Technically, he wasn't supposed to be back here with her. Technically, he didn't give a flying shit. His partner didn't deserve to wake up in the hospital alone; groggy from all the medications he knew they'd loaded her up with. So, Deeks re-adjusted his numb bottom in the chair he was occupying and cupped Kensi's warm hand in his own.  
And went back to mentally beating himself up over for the fact that he hadn't been there. _You're not Superman_, his conscience berated, _what would you have done differently? Sam did everything a good agent should have done. Accidents happen._ But... but... Deeks came up empty with his responses each time, trying to find the words to explain.  
He knew this worrying was futile. He could back track, analyze, and fret all his brain could manage, but it would get him nowhere.  
"You need to wake up." Two beats of silence passed before Deeks started up again, "Kensi, this sucks. I know we're partners and all, and you like to tease me and annoy the hell outta me, but this is a bit extreme." The chuckle that slipped from between his lips was only a bit forced. "Sam's demolishing the walls, Hetty isn't throwing out her usual proverbs, and Callen… his gloominess and brooding have increased ten-fold. We can't function properly without you." Leaning both elbows onto the bed, Deeks brought his hands up, running them through his unkempt hair and unshaven face. The clock on the wall ticked monotonously, signaling another minute, another hour that she hadn't woken up.

Her skin looked ghostly underneath the fluorescent light glowing overhead, and if the rise and fall of her bandaged chest wasn't an indicator, he would have thought her dead. But no, she wasn't dead. "You're still alive… somewhere in there. I bet you can hear me, too, can't you?" He grinned at her still form, "You and that damn stubborn streak of yours. You're listening to all of this and still won't give me the courtesy of letting me know, so I can quit worrying." Performing another quick peek, Deeks rose up from the chair and shuffled to the door, pressing his ear against the cold wood. Heels clicked against the tiled floors, voices murmured through the muffled quiet. Somewhere down the hallway, though, a door slammed shut with a _bang_.

_In the sudden quiet, he can hear the faint noise of gunfire from below - where he knows the rest of his team is located. It's been a few months, so Deeks believes he's entitled to call Callen and the others his team. And to call Kensi his partner, since they've been shoved together since the beginning._

_It was never established, truthfully. Hetty never called them in and determined their new positions. It just... happened, as unpredictable as it sounds. Back in the department, Deeks never understood the meaning of a partner. Sometimes the captain would toss him some fresh meat to straighten up, but never someone he could fully trust.__  
__When Hetty mentioned the trust thing all those months ago, Kensi seemed surprised, like she couldn't imagine __not__having__ trust in a partnership. Deeks, at the same time, was trying to determine just what the word "partnership"__meant. Now, without a doubt, he trusts Kensi. He trusts her with his life, keeping his cover safe, and - most importantly - his car.__  
__Something pricks at his skin, giving him that numb, jump-in-a-frozen-river feeling. Without returning his weapon to its home in his waistband, Deeks glides across the floor and peeks over the railing. A flash of black cloth and denim passes through his vision before he can even aim past the metal pipes blocking the targets. There's still a chance that it could be one of his own team and he really, __really __doesn't want to go back to the department with the knowledge he shot one of his own on his conscience. Instead, he backs out of the room and heads for the stairs, hoping to catch a good look at the potential suspects before__they__catch the team. He's mid-stride, stairs in sight, when Callen's voice rings in his ear._

_"Deeks, what's your status?" Before Deeks can think of responding, a movement to his right has him turning on his heels, pulling the trigger.__  
__"Oh, no you don't," The liaison smirks when he hears the tell-tale__thump__of a body as it collapses onto the concrete, "Sneaky little bastard." It's then that he remembers Callen and the fact that his leader has been waiting for an answer._Whoops._ "Sorry, Callen. I found one hiding behind a desk. What's up?"_

_"Any others?" Black cloth and denim flash into his mind._

_"I saw some movement from my right, but they were gone by the time I finished this one. Everything good?"_

_"No. Kensi's been shot." The numb feeling returns but, in a seemingly impossible way, it's grown stronger. This isn't just a jump in a frozen river. This is scuba diving the Aleutian Islands without any protective layers: no wetsuit, no nothin'.__  
_Shot_. He sucks in a breath through his nose, pushing it out through his mouth._Probably one of those gunmen I saw and didn't tell them about_. He knows he needs to stay quiet, even with all of this self-hatred rotting away his insides. He looks for something to punch, to mutilate that won't cause a big scene. Everything in the vicinity is metal, though, and it might spook the leftover shooters._Damn it, damn it, damn it_._Yeah,_like repeating curses is going to help. Your partner's wounded – shot - and you're chanting__.__"Is she gonna be okay?"_

_"We don't know." That's not what he wants to here, but that means she's still breathing, and right now, that's good enough for him. Not good enough for long, but it means she has a chance. Deeks wants to continue pouring his waterfall of questions out to Callen, but when neither agents says anything, he knows the conversation is over._

_The stairs underneath his feet pass by in a blur and he breathes a sigh of semi-relief when he sees the concrete floor up ahead. He's nearly there; another twist and a turn and…_

_"Oh, Jesus." Swallowing the rest of his outbursts, Deeks moves stealthily down the aisle where Callen is applying pressure to Kensi's wound. And Kensi, she's just lying there. Not speaking, not doing anything. Not… breathing? "Callen! Is she all right?" Some invisible force closes around his chest, making it hard to breathe, when the leader shakes his head._

_The two speak no words, but after Callen removes his fingers from Kensi's neck - half of it soaked in her own blood - Deeks knows exactly what needs to be done. Maybe it will injure her further, but it might just keep her with them for a little bit longer. He slides the tips of his fingers down below her breasts, feeling the spot there, and starts pushing down gently._

_This isn't how he imagined this mission going. Nell had informed them all earlier today that it would be a simple bag and tag of evidence needed to put the criminal away - no strings attached, no reason to bring a vest. Even Kensi, ever-prepared Kensi, didn't don one when they exited the cars twenty minutes ago.__After this, you're not even letting her go to the grocery store without one of those damn things around her.__They weren't prepared for the ambush of so many gunmen and that's when Callen sent Deeks to the second floor to eliminate all the second string targets that might be lying in wait. And that's when Kensi was shot._

_"Kensi… Kensi, listen to me. Kensi, you've gotta hang on. The ambulance will be here any second. Kensi, Kensi," He can see the look on Callen's face, that whatever string of life she'd been holding onto was releasing. Deeks pushed harder, "…no, no, you've gotta stay. Kensi." He readjusts his position, realigns his hands, and begins again. Again. Again. Another. Another. She's not coming back.__The idea of hissing or snarling at himself comes to mind, but doing it right now, when other things are more important, isn't a good idea. Instead, he tries and fails to bring back a few heartbeats from his partner._

_Salvation comes in the form of a siren, whining softly in the distance. "The ambulance is here. Kenz, just hang on. The ambulance is here."_

_The automobile sways violently as the tires roll over the potholes and piles of trash littering the area around the warehouse. Deeks watches as two EMTs rush towards him, instructing that it's time.__Time for__what? Time for her to go? In which sense of the word?_

_"You've gotta let go of her. We have to load her onto the stretcher."__Oh.__He feels dumb and his hands are clammy, even after the rigorous activity he's been using them for during the past minute. Or five minutes. Or fifteen.__How long__has__it been?__Not knowing is better, though. Not knowing means he could still live off some sliver of hope that says Kensi's only been without a pulse for a minute - not ten, not fifteen. He watches as Callen fills them in about Kensi's condition. His chest heaves again as he follows. "We're transporting her to St. Vincent Medical." One of the EMTs tells the team and then they're wheeling her away, loading the stretcher into the back. The liaison steps forward and bends down, pressing his lips against her forehead in a quick motion. A short nod and suddenly, the ambulance and Kensi are gone, vanishing over the dip in the road._

_"Callen…." He doesn't know what to say. Luckily, though, Callen does._

_"She'll make it." Already a man of few words, the leader says nothing more, and heads to the car. Sam moves past Deeks, a hand coming up to brush against his shoulder._

_"Fuck."__Startled by the sudden use of language, he glances up at Sam only to find a cold, wooden door in his vision._

"Fuck." Spinning around hastily, Deeks eyed the cursing form of Kensi Blye, blinking lazily and coughing lightly. Immediately, he assessed that there was never a more perfect sight.  
"Ahh, the lady doth speak."  
"What... _Deeks_?"  
"The one and only." She grumbled something incoherently, swinging her head from side to side, fingers absentmindedly coming to massage the wounded area of her chest.  
"I got shot."  
"That you did."  
"I'm... in the hospital?"  
"Sorry if you're disappointed, but the only other option was the funeral home so..." Kensi paused in her movements, eyeing him through the haze of the drugs. He was leaning over the side of the bed, his fingers dancing along the edge, pawing at the thin sheet. But... her hand was surprisingly warm and she knew that it meant he'd been holding her hand. The thought came across her mind to smile, but it was gone within another second. The nurses must have really loaded her up.  
"Fuck." Deeks bit back his laughter, ducking his head down next to the bedside in an effort to keep it hidden. "What are you laughing at?" Mission unsuccessful - although he knew it would be anyway, because this was Kensi. Lovable, always on alert Kensi. _Alive_ Kensi.  
"Nothing. Not important. What is, though, is your shining, awakened face." She began massaging the wound again.  
"_Fuck_."  
"...aside from the colorful language, of course. That I could have done without." The glare wasn't any less menacing than it would have been in any other setting. He found himself shrinking back into his seat, hands raised in an innocent manner. "Hey, now. Don't kill the messenger. We already warned the staff that you wouldn't be holding anything back, opinions about the food, bedside manner, etcetera." She didn't speak for another minute, choosing instead to sum up her surroundings: the prickly feeling of the IV, the muted television set, the flowers littering the room. The liaison next to her side. "I'm glad you're awake."  
"Good. That was plan B." He caught the inflection immediately and grinned, if possible, wider.  
"What was plan A?" She was silent for a moment, studying him intently.  
"Whatever the opposite of waking up is, I guess."  
"Oh. Well, I'm glad you went with plan B."  
"Me too." There's a universal rule that mentions something about a moment in time, where the organism is aware of something that has changed, that a shift in the timeline has occurred. It is akin to challenging the organism's fate and, in some cases, their sanity. Kensi felt this shift immediately after the words slipped out of her mouth, but she dared not mention it in front of Deeks. She would mull over it later, when her mind wasn't completely clogged up with drunken thoughts, as to what this shift was.  
"Do you want me to go get the rest of the team?"  
"Not just yet. I want to rest." _And hold your hand again_, a voice blurted out in the back of her mind. She could blame the blushing on the medication, couldn't she?  
"I think you've rested enough, Kenz," Callen's voice- the last thing she can remember besides a single kiss- rang from the doorway. Aside from the doctor, no one looked the least bit surprised that Deeks was already there- and that he didn't leap up and make excuses for the doc, either.  
"How are you feeling, dearie?" Hetty moved to the other side of the bed, placing the hand that had comforted Sam earlier on Kensi's shoulder.  
"A little sore, but much better," She watched as her boys grouped together next to Deeks, "You guys look like hell."

"Oh, how we've missed your infectious positivity, Kenz," Callen grumbled with a spark in his eyes, "We would've looked better if you'd woken up sooner."

"How long was I out?" They all shared a glance and she chewed on her lip, riding the wave of light anxiety that rolled around the room.

"You were unconscious for three days, Agent Blye." The doctor finally spoke up and she found herself rolling her eyes.

"You guys stayed in the hospital for three days? Without a shower?"

"So did you." Sam pointed out humorously, at which she wrinkled her nose.

"Really?"

"Really really." A million or so sarcastic replies flew into her mouth. She caught them, though, and swallowed thickly. The team shared a look of surprise at her next words.

"Thank you." They came out in a croak, thanks to her dry throat, but still managed to cross the barrier. Deeks was the first to respond, rising up and pulling her into a crushing hug, wary of her bandaged stitches.  
"It's good to have you back, Kenz." Sam moved to stand next to Hetty, clapping a hand on her shoulder and squeezing affectionately.  
"Good to be back." It was reluctant, but after the nurse politely told them visiting hours were over- after throwing a scolding look to Deeks- the team filed out, throwing out well-wishes and promises to return bright and early when hours started the next day. Kensi listened to their footfalls as they left: the reluctant scuffling of Deeks, the _clump_-_clump__ing_ of Sam's military-grade boots, Hetty's flats _clipping_lightly, and Callen's sneakers _screech__ing_ every three seconds or so. Absentmindedly, the female agent shuffled back into the pillows, content with the pain that flared up in her chest. The pain meant she was alive, that she'd survived the latest round of Russian roulette.  
Eyelids fluttering heavily, Kensi's head dropped and rested against the feather pillow Deeks had brought as a present. Suffice to say, she was enjoying it much more than the floral arrangements that drowned the room. Somewhere in the back of her mind, the nightmares had already begun playing out- black cloth and denim, she remembered, even if only caught with one quick glance- but before she could fully slip underneath the drug-induced panic, she remembered something else.

Among all the stories life provided her; among the lies and undercover operations; among the haze of morphine and battle scars, there was a promise. One that, among others she'd heard in the past twenty-six years of her life, wasn't empty. It was full of… of something. Maybe not hope, maybe not joy. It was real, though, and that she knew. In the end, after all the drama and lost days in the hospital, through all of the extensive therapy she'd go through, there was one more thing Kensi could add. There was a universal rule, written on the final page of a book or a magazine or a sheet of paper- which one of the three, she couldn't recall. What it said, though, made up for its lack of binding.

_There are no universal rules_. And with that, she allowed the rhythmic beeping of her heart- the organ that still pumped inside of her, pouring life into her broken body- to sing her to sleep.


End file.
